Set For Murder (Showbiz Is Murder Book 1)

by Jolie Beaumont

  “Don’t call me that!” She snatched the brush out of his hand and slammed it back on the table.

  “You’ve still got a temper, I see.” Bert then added, with a sneer, “Your Grace.”

  “You agreed, Bert. You agreed that as long as I paid you off, you wouldn’t tell anyone we’re married. I’ve kept my end of the bargain. I’ve sent you money every month. I’ve kept you out of the gutter, where louses like you belong. Why I didn’t have you bumped off, when I had the chance, I’ll never understand.”

  “There must be a loose chink in that gold-digging heart of yours.”

  Bert continued to examine the things on the dressing table. Selecting a small black bottle, he pulled off the red stopper and sniffed. “This is okay,” he said. “How much does this Joy stuff cost?”

  “Thirty-five dollars a bottle. Want to order a case?”

  “Gee, that’s more than I pay for a month’s rent.” He closed the perfume bottle and put it back on the table.

  “What do you want, Bert?”

  “You don’t have to be so unfriendly, Honey.” Bert moved over to the loveseat in the large alcove at one end of the bedroom and sat down. He picked up a fashion magazine that had been left on a cushion and flipped through the pages. “Not when I’ve got good news for you.”

  “Let me guess. Vaudeville is making a comeback.”

  “No Kewpie doll for you, dearie. Want another try, or should I tell you?”

  Honey strode over to the bedroom door. “See this piece of wood? It’s called a door. Why don’t you try walking past it?”

  Bert flung aside the magazine and stood up. “Have it your way, Honey. If you’re really not interested in what I have to say, that I’m willing to give you a divorce—”

  “What?” Honey rushed toward him. The hard lines on her face softened into a smile. “Bert, do you mean it?”

  “Don’t think I’m doing it for you. I’ll always remember the way you left me high and dry in Philadelphia and ran off with that society boy. The hotel bill, the bill for your new costume—you left me holding the bag for everything. But now it’s me who wants to get married. I’ve found a swell girl who’s crazy about me. And I want to make her an honest woman.”

  “That’s wonderful, Bert. Now we can both be happy.”

  “There’s just one thing, Honey. People need money to live on. It’s awful hard to be happy without it.”

  Honey was too good an actress to let all her warring thoughts show on her face—her eagerness to get a divorce, her contempt for the man she had once thought was the smartest person in the world, her nostalgia for the days when they had been two innocent dreamers. But she couldn’t entirely hide the weariness. She was tired of the entire mess. Always afraid of getting caught, never having enough money of her own because of Bert’s monthly payments—it all bore down upon her like the proverbial albatross about the neck.

  “When does it end, Bert? When do you become a man and learn to stand on your own two feet?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard there’s a Depression going on, Duchess.”

  “All right. Give me the divorce papers and I’ll see if I can get you a little more money.”

  Bert shook his head. “I’m through with these small-time handouts.”

  “Small ... Do you think it’s been easy for me? Gerald watches me like a hawk. And when he’s not around to do it, he has others watching me. He’s getting suspicious, Bert. He’s starting to ask questions about the money I spend.”

  “That’s why I want to offer you a deal. A one-time payoff. I give you a divorce. You give me the Tarrington pearls.”

  Honey stared. Then she broke into a laugh. “You nearly had me fooled, Bert,” she said, walking back to the dressing table. She took a seat and began to slap some face cream onto her cheeks. She vigorously rubbed in the cream while she kept her eyes on the mirror and Bert’s reflection. “For a minute, I thought you had turned into a human being.”

  “Maybe you’d like to share the joke.”

  “You really expect me to hand over those pearls?”

  “Why not?”

  “How long do you think it will take until my husband notices they’re missing?”

  “I’ll be far away by then.”

  “Leaving me to hold the bag? Is that it?”

  “You catch on quick.”

  A smile crept onto Honey’s face. She wiped off the excess face cream with a tissue. “It would serve you right if I did give you those pearls. You do know there is an inspector from Scotland Yard on board this ship?”

  Her eyes were still focused on Bert’s image in the mirror. Bert stared back at her.

  “How do I know you’re not trying to pull a fast one?”

  “You can ask him. His name is Travers. Inspector Guy Travers. He’s on board to make sure those pearls get back to England safe and sound.”

  Bert began to run his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit of his.

  Honey regarded him with unconcealed contempt. “That was always your problem, Bert—all talk. You never could think things through.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “And another thing, how were you going to get us a divorce without it being splashed all over the newspapers?”

  Bert’s face brightened. “Don’t you read, Honey? Reno has changed its laws. All it takes now to get divorced is a stay of six weeks and a serious reason, like your wife snores in her sleep.”

  “Six weeks?”

  “That’s right, forty-two days. We can get the divorce and go our separate ways before the newspaper guys get wise.”

  “You really mean I can be free in six weeks and this nightmare will be over?” Honey had a dreamy look on her face. “And I could make up any reason?”

  “Don’t think you can go to Reno yourself and cut me out of the deal. Your precious duke won’t be happy to find out he married a bigamist, divorce or no divorce.”

  Honey stood up and drew close to her husband. She took out the handkerchief stuck in the pocket of Bert’s jacket and gently wiped away the beads of perspiration that had formed on his forehead. “You’ve got me wrong, Bert. I’ll admit I left you in the lurch in Philadelphia. But I was still a kid, and you know as well as me that the act wasn’t going anywhere. I’ve never forgotten, though, it was you who took me out of that dead-end typing job in Indianapolis and taught me how to dance.” She drew even closer. “Can’t we work together on this, be partners again, so we can both get what we want?”

  “I need money. I’ve been to those soup kitchens and I don’t like the menu.”

  “You’ve got to be reasonable, Bert. The pearls are too hot. You’ll never be able to unload them. I’ll tell you what ...”

  She went over to the wall by her bed and removed a small painting, revealing the door of a wall safe. The safe could be opened either with a key or turning the knob with the right combination. As she had earlier flung the key to some unknown place, Honey now turned the knob backwards and forwards, until the lock clicked open. She continued talking while she rummaged through the contents of the safe. “I’ll give you something else, something you can take apart and sell one gemstone at a time, as you need the cash, and no one will be the wiser. What does your bride-to-be like? Diamonds? Emeralds? Oh, my God!”

  Honey turned. She was holding a large but obviously empty blue velvet pouch in her hand. Her face had turned deathly pale.

  “What is it, Honey? What’s wrong?”

  “They’re gone,” she whispered. “Bert, the pearls ... They’re gone.”

  “I didn’t take them,” Bert protested, backing out of the bedroom and toward the cabin door. “Don’t try to lay this egg on me. If you try ... If you say anything ... You can go to jail for bigamy, Honey. Remember that.”

  Having reached the door, he quickly slid out of the cabin.

  One of the ocean liner’s large public rooms was an airy chamber designed and decorated to resemble the drawing room of an English country home. Paintings
of pastoral scenes had been hung on the walls, which were painted a pleasant verdant green that suggested the rolling hills of an English landscape. Overhead, the lower margin of a vast dome was ringed with wheels of glass windows, which let in the light. One side of the room featured a row of large casement windows that also let in light, as well as views of the sea.

  At one end of the room was a marble fireplace, topped by a large gilt-framed mirror. At the other end was a gleaming grand piano. A professional pianist was playing a selection of light classical pieces, which could only barely be heard above the steady murmur of voices engaged in conversation.

  On that afternoon, the drawing room was practically full. Although all the first class passengers had enjoyed a hearty breakfast, a mid-morning snack served on the deck, and a multi-course luncheon, for the English passengers on board the ship it was unthinkable to miss one’s afternoon tea. Stewards therefore pushed their trolleys laden with sandwiches, cakes and pots of China and Indian tea through the sea of sofas and chairs.

  Jeffrey Baird watched the scene with amusement, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It was all so very English; a good reintroduction to the England he hadn’t visited in years, he supposed.

  Guy Travers stood beside him, with cup and saucer in his hand. Tea was the only drink he allowed himself during the day, when he was on duty.

  “I think Countess Scharwenka is trying to catch your eye,” said Travers. “She’s sitting over to the right, by the second window.”

  “Is she?” Baird moved his position so that he was facing the left-hand side of the room. The table where the Lambton-Keenes were sitting was now in his direct line of vision. He noted that the duchess wasn’t with them. Without her, the group had little interest for him. “I think I’ll have a swim. The pool should be empty now.”

  Baird set down his glass on an empty trolley being wheeled away and left the room, just as Peter Carroll and Lady Margaret entered.

  “I’m not at all hungry,” the young woman protested.

  “Then have a cup of tea,” said Peter, grasping her arm more firmly, lest she bolt. “One cup, a few words, and we can leave.”

  He led her over to where Sir William and Lady Lambton-Keene were sitting. Freddie, who was also there, sprang up from his place on the sofa to make room for the new arrivals.

  “That’s a lovely color for you, Margaret,” said Lady Lambton-Keene, eyeing the dress with a critical glance. Personally, she thought the loose chiffon tea dress was dowdy, something that might have been fashionable in 1923 but was too boxy for these days. “You should wear mauve more often.”

  Lady Margaret and Peter sat down and accepted the proffered cups of tea. No one spoke of the absence of the Duchess of Tarrington. Since no other topic came readily to hand, they busied themselves with consuming their tea.

  “We tried out the tennis court this morning,” Sir William said to Peter, after setting his empty cup and saucer on the table. “Perhaps you and Lady Margaret would like to join us for a game tomorrow.”

  “I don’t play,” said Peter, accepting a plate from Lady Lambton-Keene that was graced with a thin cucumber sandwich and a buttered muffin. “But the exercise might do you good, darling.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” said Lady Margaret, refusing a scone and clotted cream.

  “I personally feel there is a storm brewing,” said Sir William. “I always feel it in my knees.”

  “You young people wouldn’t know about such things,” Lady Lambton-Keene assured the young couple.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Peter. “I often get a headache before a storm.”

  “Really?” said Lady Lambton-Keene. “So does the duchess. She complained of one before lunch. She’s resting now, the poor dear.”

  “Is that why she isn’t here?” asked Lady Margaret. “I think I’ll have one of those scones after all.”

  As Baird had suspected, the indoor swimming pool was empty at that hour. Or at least the water was. While walking over to the diving board, he noticed a couple huddled in a corner of the room. A closer look showed him that the female half of the couple was none other than the sullen companion, Miss Watson. He didn’t know the name of the man, but he recognized him from the dance floor the previous night. The man had been dancing with a pretty brunette, who was an excellent dancer.

  It was an awkward moment. Clearly, the couple had chosen this spot at this hour to be alone, and he had come barging in on them. Yet he was there, and so Baird continued to the diving board. He assumed the other two, if they wished, could disappear while he was under water.

  They did.

  Penny stoically pushed aside the Lemon Blanc Mange. She never liked to overeat before a performance and she had already dined on Poached Salmon, Roast Mutton, Browned Potatoes, and a salad with three different types of lettuce. Nick, who suffered even more from pre-show butterflies in the stomach, had barely touched any of the dishes that were served him.

  “I think we should test the ballroom floor, Penny,” he told her.

  This time Penny didn’t protest. With a London opening ahead of them, she didn’t want to risk spraining an ankle—or worse—because she hadn’t been ready for a slippery floor.

  While Penny and Nick did a few warm-up routines, the members of the orchestra straggled into the ballroom. They had just enough time to rehearse a few of the more complex dance numbers before the guests, having finished their dessert and after-dinner coffee, began to enter the room.

  Penny and Nick retreated to the back of the ballroom, while the others took their seats. In the mirror Penny checked her dress. She was wearing a carnation-pink evening gown that had a full skirt hemmed with a dreamy cloud of soft ostrich feathers dyed the same pink color. The dress looked fine, but she would have put on a bit more lipstick if her evening bag hadn’t been sitting by the orchestra, on the other side of the room.

  Nick also checked his appearance, nervously straightening the already perfect butterfly tie. While he was smoothing down the already smooth lapels of his tuxedo, he noticed a slight tilt in the reflected image. “Is it my imagination, or is this ship starting to roll?” he asked.

  “If you’re not careful,” said Penny, who had already turned to face the room, “one of these days you’re going to make yourself worried sick.”

  “I know,” said Nick, anxiously patting his stomach.

  Then came the introduction, followed by the first chords of the music—and they were on! Whatever jitters they had experienced before were replaced by the burst of adrenalin that always came when they performed before an audience.

  They started with a few popular songs from the past, to warm up the audience, which included many elderly people, who would presumably enjoy the short trip down memory lane. They both sang “By the Beautiful Sea.” Then Nick did his specialty song “Yaaka Hula Hickey Dula,” the Hawaiian love song first made popular by Al Jolson during the Great War and which, in Nick’s version, always got the audiences laughing; Penny strummed along on the ukulele. Then it was Penny’s turn to take center stage, and she finished the first set with a flirtatious rendition of “South Sea Rose.” By the time she was through there wasn’t a man in the audience who wouldn’t have willing helped her satisfy her “craving for love.”

  Next it was time to introduce a few numbers from their new show, which would soon be opening in London. By the time they finished the vocal part of their first number, even Penny noticed that the boat was rolling from side to side, much more than usual. Still, they were troupers and so they went into the dance as though nothing was amiss, until—.

  “Penny! Stage right!” Nick whispered in her ear.

  Penny turned her head. A low table was coming towards them, picking up speed as the ship tilted even further. They managed to leap over the table, which kept going until it crashed into a wall. The audience, thinking this was part of the act, applauded loudly.

  The next part of the dance, a series of fast turns and dramatic leaps, took all their attention�
�except for when an ornate and unoccupied loveseat rolled onto center stage at the exact moment when Penny and Nick were poised to touch ground. Instead, their feet landed precariously on the top of the loveseat for a split second. Fortunately, the ship rolled again and the loveseat moved away before they lost balance. Penny and Nick landed gracefully on the ground. Once again, the audience roared its applause.

  “Pray, Penny, that we make it to the finale,” Nick whispered through his clenched-teeth smile, which he hoped masked his absolute terror.

  “I’m praying,” an equally terrified Penny whispered back.

  They were almost at the end—just one more turn, a leap and—

  The loveseat, back for an encore, returned to center stage.

  While they were in mid-air Penny and Nick looked at one other, shrugged, and allowed themselves to fall down onto the loveseat, as though it really had been part of the act. While the crowd gave them a standing ovation, a very relieved Nick and Penny shook hands and then stood up to take a bow.

  Inspector Travers wasn’t surprised to see that several people left the ballroom after the performance, which had been cut short by the inclement weather. The ship’s rolling didn’t bother him, but it was understandable that less experienced sailors would want to retreat to the privacy of their cabins.

  What did surprise him was the queer expression on the face of the chief steward, who had just entered the ballroom. After spotting Travers in the crowd, the chief steward made a beeline toward him.

  “Would you mind coming to the duchess’s cabin, sir?” the chief steward said in a low voice.

  “The pearls?” asked Travers, instantly alert.

  The chief steward tried to speak. Nothing came out. He tried again. The third time, he was successful.

  “She’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 6

  THIS WASN’T THE first scene of the crime Travers had observed. Far from it. Yet there was always that initial moment of awe which he felt upon viewing a human being whose soul had recently departed.